


Another Life

by Lucky7



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky7/pseuds/Lucky7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“… we imagine, at this point, we will find our heroes after they’ve settled a little bit into the life that Root has set up for them.” - Jonathan Nolan, on S4<br/>This will surely be AU in S4, but is currently my version of Harold’s new life. Post S3, Pre S4; POV Finch<br/>(The companion piece is "A New Life", my version of Reese's new life)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“I really don’t know what brand cigarettes Sir Walter Raleigh smoked. May I suggest you check out his biography by William Stebbing?”_  

 _“Voltaire? If you mean François-Marie Arouet who used that nom-de-plume, then no, he didn’t invent electricity. Voltaire was actually a famous author known for his advocacy for freedom of expression and freedom of religion…”_

_“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know which Key to the Kingdom will free the princess…”_  

Finch pulls off his headset, removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.  
Unfortunately it does nothing to relieve the jack-hammer project that’s taken up operating on his skull. So far he’s been successful in holding on to his temper and curbing his sarcasm, but lately the inane questions have been severely testing his composure…and giving him a brutal headache! 

Not that he hadn’t expected this. In the initial meeting Root had arranged for him, this “research” position had been explained in glowing terms, all about assisting young people to connect to the wonders of history and art and science…a truly inspiring job description! 

He knew better, even then. In reality the work consists simply of answering 911 calls from the literary challenged, a task he knows could be easily digitized. In fact, it wouldn’t even require the skills of someone like himself to create a program to fulfill the requirements of this function. 

But a kiosk with a touch pad, strategically placed in the center of this federally funded institution would not have allowed library management to fill in the quota question, “Number of handicapped employees?” A reality of life. It’s…demeaning. However, even if he is but a token hire, he’s grateful to be employed. 

 _"I'm handi-capable Mr. Reese, but I need some assistance."_  

Unfortunately, his infirmities limit what he can do successfully, job wise. Nothing requiring a great deal of physical activity…and with a goal to blend into the main stream city populace so as not to draw attention to himself in any way, he’s also not been able to exploit his expertise, namely any activity related to computers and programming. 

He accepts this job as the best he could hope for. Whatever Root determined for him had to fit at least some of his skill set and he supposes he should be grateful that he’s back in a familiar setting, even if in a very different capacity. And who knows? Perhaps he will be able to influence some youngster to at least appreciate the lost art of reading books, if not enthusiastically partake in the activity. 

 _Bit of a come down from saving the world, I guess, but we have our moments…_  

He shakes his head as his comment from the past slides front and center into his consciousness.  
Don’t go there! Dwelling on those incidents is just an incredible waste of time; it serves no purpose going into the future - one that can’t be predicted other than it will be full of unprecedented events. He will simply have to learn how to be satisfied with this life, this existence! 

But how long is it going to take before he stops measuring everything by what he’s left behind? 

It’s said that happiness is having good health and a bad memory. Regrettably he has neither… 

So he will focus on this job, where the only thing that surprises him is how truly uninformed his callers are about history and current events. A sad testimony to the educational system in the area. Still, these young people are at least calling…that has to count for something! 

Bear raises his head to give him a nervous look, sensing his companion’s inner turmoil. 

“It’s alright,” Finch reassures the animal. “I’m just tired. Nothing to be concerned about.” 

He worries about the dog. It’s fortunate that his handicap status allows him to bring the canine with him every day. But when at the end of the day they return to the small efficiency, the animal will lie for hours in front of the bolted entry door, very obviously anticipating the arrival of a second person. 

It saddens him to watch the dog patiently wait for so many weeks, months, for that tall figure to show up…because he knows just how the dog feels. 

He reaches down and gives the canine a comforting pat on the head, though he’s not entirely sure who he’s attempting to soothe. Bear huffs in return but remains on the floor, rolling his hips, the Service Dog vest shifting and adjusting to his change in position as he focuses on the person advancing toward them.

“Harold! Good! You’re off the phone!” announces the stoutly built woman approaching the desk. 

The library’s bastion is a stereotypical icon with her cliché hairstyle - a sensible bun at the base of her ample neck – and a dress with its forgettable non-color successfully hiding what he assumes are knee high stockings. Sensible shoes with foam soles put a finish on the ensemble and serve to muffle any sound of her arrival. 

An incongruous image of his 7th grade teacher flashes through Finch’s mind. But this is his boss, and he’d best pay better attention to her than he did to his long ago teacher. He needs the work. 

“I just wanted to remind you that Mr. Nealy will be coming by this afternoon to examine our rare book collection! He is one of our biggest supporters, so make sure to treat him with the proper respect!” 

He has to forcibly keep from rolling his eyes. The woman makes a fanfare of approaching her employees, her voice projecting her royal entrance like a heralding trumpet. Her habit of speaking in exclamations was a source of some internal sniggering on his part in the beginning, but has now become merely an irritant. 

“Yes, Ms. Daily. I remember. I will give him my undivided attention,” he replies meekly, shifting into his best Walter Mitty demeanor, self respect dangling on a thread. 

With a quick nod - and he could well add an exclamation point to _that_ gesture– she walks away, her Darth Vader shoes floating her bulk across the hardwood floor without so much as a squeak. 

He picks up the headset, reluctant to put it back on. Loathing this job is not an indulgence he can afford. But if he gets just one more call from some lazy, under-educated, pimply-faced youth wanting to know if Karl Marx was one of Groucho’s brothers…? He may just toss that headset, and its base, through the tinted window behind him! 

 _... sometimes your mistakes can surprise you. My biggest mistake, for instance... brought me here._  

Turning stiffly, he looks around. Libraries really are like members of the same family, no matter their differing designs. Quiet, restful environs, the odor of the thousands of books infusing the very walls of the building. A unique scent, this atmosphere of knowledge. Something that hasn’t changed over the centuries. 

Of course now there are many more informational resources available in a library than when he was a boy, and increasingly being utilized as younger generations eschew the printed page for digital ones. That area of the library he ruthlessly avoids, not only because of a desire to conceal his computer skills, but to forestall any temptation to utilize them. 

He misses working with code, but at least he’s been given the opportunity to explore the rare books section, and over the past months has rapidly gained an in-house reputation for knowledge in that area. 

While he sees the advantage in digitizing much of the libraries information, his prime pleasure is still in working with real books: printed pages, bound together to form a hard spine, with covers in a rainbow of colors and textures, titles both intriguing and uninspiring. Hopefully they’ll always be a part of his life, however long - or short - that might be. 

 _Sooner or later both of us will probably wind up dead…_  

“Harold? Can you help me with this phone?” 

The question comes from the right and he swivels his chair around to face the library’s newest intern - who seems to have taken a liking to him. Though why, he can’t fathom! The young lady is less than half his age and attractive in a bookish sort of way. But she treats him like he expects she would a favorite uncle - which isn’t exactly an ego boost but is certainly a much more acceptable association than… well…anything else. 

“I just got it yesterday. It’s an Android and I don’t know the first thing about how it works!” she continues, a look of expectation on her face as she holds out the device to him. “Somehow I’ve locked the silly thing and can’t get it to accept my pass code!” 

He takes the cell phone and looks at it critically, his fingers turning it over and over, his mind itching to get involved. But that’s not his life anymore. So how to answer her question? 

 _I have built some of the most complex computer systems in existence. I can certainly unlock a phone…_  

“I’m sorry,” he says, handing the smart phone back to her. “I don’t have an Android…” 

She frowns as he hands it back. “Guess I’ll have to read that instruction book then…” And she stuffs the device into her purse.

“That might be best,” he offers, hating himself for the deception he’s forced to perpetuate on this young woman. Though actually, he’s not entirely lied to her; he really doesn’t have an Android phone. 

“Will you be going to out for lunch?” she responds brightly, the phone issue already forgotten. 

Ah, the resiliency of the young. “No, I brought a sandwich. I think I’ll just stay here and eat.”  
He pulls the brown paper bag out of the drawer and places it with obvious intent on the desk. 

She crouches down next to Bear. “Then would you like for me to take your dog out? I need to buy some flowers from the vendor in the park, so it’s no trouble. And there’s that area I found last time where I can let him off the leash so he can exercise a bit.” 

“Yes. Thank you very much. I’m sure he’d appreciate a good run after having been cooped up all morning.” He smiles, pulling a leash and a well worn tennis ball out of the desk. “Just throw this a few times. He’ll exercise himself.” 

“Great! I’ll put the vest back on him when I get back.“ She swiftly removes the service vest from the animal. “Sure you don’t want to come along?” 

At Finch’s tight smile and nod, she clips the leash on the dog’s collar and with a quick wave to the older man moves out the door at a brisk pace, her dark pony tail swinging in sync to her energetic pace. Bear gives him one final glance before bouncing beside the young woman in anticipation of his daily run. 

Finch has a sudden vision of the dog doing exactly that, but next to someone else, someone taller. 

He shakes off the image and watching the pair leave, wonders again why he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunities to be more social. Isn’t that what normal people do? Isn’t that what this new identity is all about, to be ordinary, average…?  But he’s had to walk away from so many people he cares about, starting with Grace, he just doesn’t think he can ever be “normal” again. 

_“You have to become these people now…”_

Since he made the decision to help the people revealed through the Machine’s Numbers, he seems to have morphed into a totally different person. Yes, he’s always been paranoid, never revealing more than required, preferring to stay inside a bubble of anonymity that kept him safe - was supposed to keep him safe. It was a circumstance that necessarily kept him apart from the rest of humanity. 

But he gave away that anonymity… 

And though he’s often had to dissemble, bend the truth, he’s always attempted to circumvent situations that required absolute dishonesty by employing instead a tactic of selective omission. That might be splitting hairs, but he finds it preferable to outright deceit. 

Now his self identity is gone, vanished - though not in the manner of using a cover or an alias when investigating a Number. No, this time it’s not temporary - there is no “other” Harold he can switch back to; no role he can play until he’s ready to discard it. When he dissembles now it is as this person, a stranger - the one Root created for him. 

 _You’re not a free man anymore Harold. You’re just a number…_  

After the upheaval of the mock trial, after having to disappear again, he wonders - did she deliberately seek out this setting for him, not realizing it would constantly remind him of the past? Or maybe because it would... Perhaps she knew it would comfort him to be surrounded by dark paneling and shelves filled with collections of familiar books. If he is to hide, then this is as good a place as any. 

And if sometimes he feels a pang at seeing a tall male in a dark suit wander down the aisles, or a slight female in Goth clothing enter the building…well…that’s just the way it is now. They are no longer a part of his existence. 

This is another life now, a new life, filled with different people. 

He sighs. 

_Everything is changing. I don’t know if it will ever get better…but it’s going to get worse._

He rubs the tight spot on his chest, fighting off a sorrow that always hovers just below the surface... 

 

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

_(For lionsassy, who likes Bear to be involved…)_

 

Shifting the bags to one hand, he closes the door behind him as he lets himself into the cramped little efficiency. Turning the multiple locks and securing the safety chain takes a few minutes, but he’s become quite proficient at that over the last several months. Not that there’s anything of value in the apartment other than that old TV, but a home invasion is not something he’s willing to risk. At the very least he would become a police statistic and highlight his existence.

It’s a pocket-sized space, so small that he and the dog moving around in it is akin to a pair of goldfish swimming in a brandy glass. Not that he cares; he’d long ago learned not to become attached to any particular living quarters, not since going off the grid those many years ago, becoming untraceable. The closest he’d ever really come to having a home – as an adult, that is - was during those special years he spent with Grace. Before…

_No! Don’t go there._

“Yes…yes. I’m back…” he tells the excited dog. “And for heaven’s sake! I haven’t been gone that long. I would have taken you with me but you know I’d never get any shopping done. Everyone wants to ‘pet the dog’…!

That was one reason. The other being that he preferred not to draw attention and Bear in the Mini-Mart was definitely an attention grabber. Besides, he preferred the dog stay and guard the apartment. It’s such a tired little place, but all he has at the moment…

Finch glances around the room as the animal shoves against his good leg, impeding his path to the mini-kitchen.

Funny…though he cares little for his own lodgings, he’d taken great pleasure in researching, finding, and purchasing that spacious loft for John. A reward, an employment perk, but also because he’d sensed how rootless the ex-op was, the lack of anchor. So even while he himself moved regularly from safe house to safe house, he’d had the satisfaction of knowing that his employee at least had a secure place to call “home”.

Well, that’s over now. The loft is no longer safe. None of their former locations are safe.

The city is an expensive place to live, with living space priced at a premium so wherever John ended up, it probably wasn’t much better than these sad accommodations…a shoebox masquerading as an apartment. But he’s resigned to residing in this cramped space, and supposes it matters little to his canine guardian as long as the animal is afforded enough daily exercise.

In that regard he’s been fortunate. With that young intern at the library having taken a real shine to Bear from the start and almost every day taking animal to exercise in the park, it allows him to return guilt free to these confined quarters at the end of the day, knowing that the dog is having its need for physical activity met.

Though today Bear had acted strangely…

Apparently adverse to taking their normal route back to the apartment, the dog had pulled in the opposite direction to the point of almost causing him to fall. With an uncharacteristic harsh command – for him at least – he’d brought the animal to heel, but Bear had been visibly unhappy about not being allowed to take the lead.

Had the animal sensed some kind of danger in the direction of their lodgings? While their apartment is not in a particularly good neighborhood, he’d not yet run into any kind of trouble on their way home. But he knows Bear has been tasked with protecting him.

A familiar voice tiptoes into his consciousness.  
 _Bear is friendly, you'll like him… If anyone ever messes with you, he'll eat them._

Finch groans. At least this time the scene plays only the audio, with no accompanying video portion. For that at least, he’s thankful.

Placing the grocery bags on the miniscule counter, he rubs Bear’s head as the animal offers a doggie smile in return. He knows the canine sat at the door the entire time he was gone, waiting, waiting. Just as he knows that once Bear has finished greeting him, the dog will return to that same spot by the entry and resume his sentry duty - as he’s done for so many weeks…months.

He's very aware what’s at the root of this behavior, and it not only saddens him but sometimes angers. Anger steeped in shame he knows, because the dog has not given up…and he has.

Root engineered the break-up of their group, an action he understands…just as he understands the need for anonymity, the necessity in keeping Samaritan from scrutinizing their identities too closely.

_"When the whole world is watched, filed, indexed, numbered, the only way to disappear is to appear, hiding our true identities inside a seemingly ordinary life._

And that means staying away from each other.

It’s difficult. Surprisingly so, evidence that he’s become far more dependent on these people than he ever thought possible. To the point that leaving them has been the most difficult endeavor he’s ever undertaken. With the exception of walking away from Grace...

But it almost feels like that…

Reaching down now with both hands and rubbing the animal’s ears, he hopes to offer some comfort and perhaps in the process, alleviate his own despair.

“Yesss….! Such a good boy! _Braaf hond_ ….yes….”

As he pets the squirming animal he makes an effort to infuse his voice with a positive vibe, hoping that in doing so he’ll hold his own inevitable end-of-day depression at bay. After all, the animal is sensitive to emotions in the atmosphere and their current circumstance is not the dog’s fault.

So he smiles, deliberately projecting “happy”…but there’s a lie in the every muscle it takes to form the expression. He knows it. He only hopes the dog does not.

_I read that if there's anxiety in the home, it can make your pets become upset…_

Finally rising he begins to unpack the bags, cramming most of the items into the mini-fridge, given that the resident roaches consider anything outside of canned goods as an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord. Early on he had attempted to control the hoard with various pesticides, but eventually decided the limited space made spraying those chemicals a hazard to his and Bear’s health. So based on the theory that the pests are opportunistic scavengers, his current plan is now to starve them into leaving for easier pickings.

Of course, chasing the bugs does give Bear something to do in the long evening hours.  
As for his own entertainment...there is none. He's simply glad to get back to his lodgings and relax. Physically at least.

The result of sitting too long in one position all day has his leg screaming, with his back beginning to ache in sympathy.  The work he does is not just impacting him physically,  it's also mind-numbing, giving him plenty of idle gray matter to play with. And those brain cells unfortunately - and continuously - get busy with recollections of days past. Of his years with Nathan, living with Grace, working the Numbers…

And then there are those memories of the rest of the current core team: Root, with her infuriating ability to communicate with the Machine; Shaw, with her infuriating inability to feel emotions. And John…

 ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

 

_So happy to see you again Glasses Man!_

_You were gone a long time. And now you are back!_

_Back where_ _I can protect you._

_You need to take me with you next time._

_Now we must go out again!_

_Quickly!_

_Here is the leash…_

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

 

Bear has brought him the leash, something the dog normally doesn’t do unless there is a real urgency to go out. Finch worries. Is the canine sick? Does the animal need to relieve himself again?

He observes closely but sees no sign of the tension or anxious behaviors that would normally signal a physical problem. Just the spirited attitude of a dog anticipating an outing. Maybe Bear is simply wound up; perhaps the young lady didn’t run him quite as much today…?

He sighs. The comfortable old chair, a cup of tea, and losing himself in one of the classics will all have to wait…

“All right…all right! We’ll go out. I need to make a quick stop and then we’ll go…” he tells the joyous dog. Being well versed in the actions attached to the sound of “out”, Bear is now excitedly dancing in place.

He limps to the closet sized area that serves as the bathroom and closes the door on the dog. The room is barely big enough for one human much less one human and a large animal. But Bear, usually so confident and self-contained has over the months become much more dependent, sticking to his human companion like Velcro. The dog will join him in the small space if given the chance.

Bear snuffles at the threshold, and then there is the sound of a large “thump” as the animal lies down and plasters his body against door and floor.

 

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

 

_Glasses Man is in the small room and locking him out. Again. It’s a routine he doesn’t quite understand, something human no doubt, but he would feel more secure if he were allowed inside._

_After all, it’s his job to protect the small man._

_So he will lie here then, against the door and keep the human safe for the Alpha._

_He huffs his frustration._

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

 

“Don’t rush me.” Finch says, knowing his voice carries easily through the thin door panels. He carefully washes his hands, avoiding as much as possible the scratched mirror and the person revealed therein. As though by ignoring the image, he can ignore the present.

But this is his life now: an info-bot to the uninformed during the day, and holding one-sided conversations with the dog in the evening. And he doesn’t know how to get out of this existence, even though determined and desperate to do so. He dries his hands on the skimpy towel, then rattles the door knob, a signal for Bear to move.

“Well, let’s go. Is the park all right with you?” he asks conversationally, because, well…there’s no one else to talk to.

He clips the leash on the dog’s collar, unlocks the dead bolts and unlatches the chain from the entry door. And how many times has he repeated those actions? If only there was some change, some relief on the horizon. Something besides waking up, going to work, coming home, sleeping…only to repeat the routine the next day.

But life is like a game of cards, he knows: the hand one is dealt represents determinism, the way one plays is free will. But all he’s been doing for months now is shuffling the deck, and like Bear, waiting, waiting…

 ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

 

  _Finally! We’re going outside!_

He’s especially anxious for this outing now - not for the exercise, given that his human doesn’t walk near fast enough for a dog to pace - but because there is somewhere he needs to go! The Girl had fulfilled any need he’d had for physical activity today by taking him to the park this afternoon; a desire for activity is not the reason he’s so eager now to go outside!

No, it’s because on the way back from this afternoon’s play time, a familiar odor had drifted in the air toward him. A very, very faint concentration - but he’d recognized it immediately. His Leader’s scent! And he had followed it around the corner, across the street, towing The Girl as fast as she could run, until finally he pulled free of the leash constraint.

He’d ran, his nose lifting and lowering to follow that elusive scent. And then suddenly…there was the Tall Man, jumping out of a doorway, right into his path!

That well-known face, that whispery voice… He’d been so overjoyed he’d completely skipped the required greeting protocols. He just couldn’t get close enough, yelping like a young pup, feeling those wonderful hands on his fur again! And all the while, Alpha was saying he was a Good Boy! Ecstasy…!

But it was confusing to be sent away again. And Alpha didn’t come back with him to the book house. Instead, Tall Man had talked to The Girl and then knelt to give the command. Not one expected nor wanted, but this was his Leader, and when Leader gives a command it must be obeyed.

So he had left with The Girl, back to the book house to continue to protect Glasses Man as ordered.

But now…Well, if the Alpha won’t come to the book house, then he will bring Glasses Man to the Alpha!

_So come along, human!_

_We must hurry, hurry…_

End

 


End file.
